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Jamie flopped onto his bed, still smelling a little of powdered sugar and orange zest from the kitchen downstairs. Mom was humming in the living room, Ruben was probably plotting his next cookie heist, and the twins were… well, somewhere causing mischief, no doubt.
He grabbed his journal, opened it, and started scribbling.
“Okay, so today was… something else. Sam showed up. And I mean, wow. She handled my crazy house better than I ever thought she could. The twins, Ruben, me running around like a ridiculous villain… she didn’t lose it once. Didn’t yell, didn’t pout, didn’t even roll her eyes too much. Just… was Sam. Smarter, calmer, funnier than the Sam I first met. Not toxic, not bossy. Just… really present. Which is huge.”
He paused to take a bite of a leftover cookie, crumbling chocolate on the page.
“She told me she envied me for having parents who accept me for who I am. And yeah, it hit me. I wish her parents could see her like that, too—her goth side, sarcasm, humor, everything. She deserves that. Not just tolerance. Acceptance. And for one night, she got it here. She got to belong. And it felt… good seeing her like that. Relaxed, laughing, part of something. Not just Sam Manson, the outsider, but Sam Manson, who matters. Finally.”
Jamie leaned back, grinning as he remembered little moments: her carefully helping the twins shake their groggers at the right moment, laughing at his ridiculous Haman face, improvising little gestures that made the game feel real.
“Honestly? I’m proud of her. And happy. Not because of me, not because of magic, not because of some weird soul-bond thing, but because she did it. She stood in the middle of chaos and… thrived. And I got to be there to see it. That’s better than any spotlight, better than any drama club applause. Way better.”
He added a little star in the margin and scribbled a mini crown next to it.
“She’s grown. She’s not the same Sam I met. And for once… for once, she got to feel like she belonged somewhere. And that? That’s everything.”
Jamie set down the pen, crumbs still on the page, and let himself sink into the pillow. Chaos in the house, drama in the kitchen, mischief from the twins… didn’t matter. He felt proud, grounded, and a little goofy-smiley about the whole thing.
“Not bad for a Monday,” he muttered, closing the journal. “Not bad at all.”